What Lies Beneath
by flowinthestream12
Summary: This is a story inspired by 3DBABE1999. Set between seasons 4 & 5. Uriel beats Sam in a storage unit & Dean is forced to watch. Cas appears & Uriel leaves. But, something Sam did while being tortured by the angel told Dean that worse has yet to come. Has Sam finally cracked? What underlying physical & mental ailments were rising to the surface? Limp!Sam & Protective!Dean.
1. Sending A Message

Dean was pinned by the force of Uriel's power and screamed in outrage as Sam's knees buckled beneath him. Sam's shins seemed to be sucked down to the floor. Sam grunted at the sharp pain that erupted at those joints and gasped when his large hands were pulled down to the floor. No matter how much he struggled, it was as though he were being held to the ground by strong, invisible hands.

Uriel sneered,"Killing you would send my brother a message..."

Dean knew Uriel was referring to Lucifer. His dark green eyes darted between the angel and his brother forced to his knees before the powerful creature. Uriel clawed his fingers in his outstretched hand pointed at Dean's little brother and Sam gagged as his head was forced back like he was being pulled by a dog leash.

"Just leave him alone, you son of a _bitch_!" roared Dean. "Get off of him! SAMMY?"

The angel ignored him, "But, alas, my orders entail keeping your heart beating." Uriel's hand swung down to his side and Sam crumbled forward on his thighs, gasping for air. "Stand, pest."

Sam coughed and Dean felt chills rise up all over his exposed skin as he saw tiny drops of blood splatter in time with Sam's wretches.

"Sammy, can you hear me?" Dean breathed down at Sam.

Relief washed through his veins as Sam nodded while heaving himself to his feet. Although, that could have just been natural movement because his younger brother was so weak from being beaten.

Uriel rolled down his sleeves to the elbows of his vessel, "Good thing we can send messages just as well with you alive. You don't want Lucifer set free, do you, Samuel Winchester?"

Sam swayed where he stood and Dean retorted angrily at the angel, "Ever heard of a cell phone?"

"We don't exactly get great service down in the pit," sneered Uriel, acknowledging Dean for the first time in a while.

Dean held his breath as the angel raised his hand up and struggled even harder than before against the invisible force plastering him to this wall, stopping him from diving in front of Sam to take whatever blow Uriel was about to inflict on his weak brother. Sam's bobbling head gazed over at Dean. Dean frowned when he saw a small smile stretch across Sam's bloodied lips. Dean needed to get to Sam. Something was seriously wrong, which was emphasized to Dean by the blood now dripping over the corner of Sam's lip to his sharpened chin.

Dean gulped, "Sam? Talk to me."

"You won't be laughing in a second," growled Uriel and he punched the air in front of him.

Sam doubled over as though he had been socked in his stomach. The smile only widened on his face and Dean could hear a deep chuckle crackling from his little brother's throat.

Dean yelled, "Sam! Say something!"

Sam staggered where he was bent over, still laughing at the floor and blood dripped down from his gaped mouth. Uriel glared at the sound of Sam's disturbingly cheerful reaction to his blow that was supposed to be close to the force of an oncoming sedan. Uriel raised his hand into the air and ignored Dean's roar of insults as he slashed his fingers through the air, taking a step closer to Sam. Sam dropped to the ground with a hiss and a whimper as a cut sliced along the side of his face from his hairline down to his chiseled chin. The way Sam had been laughing at the pain was almost surmounting Dean's concern for the actual injuries Uriel was inflicting on him.

Uriel stalked Sam in a circle around him. Sam struggled to stand upright and something scared Uriel enough to gape up at Sam. Dean could only see the back of Sam's shaggy head. So, he did not witness Sam's eyes turn entirely black. The light fixture hanging above them flickered and Castiel appeared in the far corner of the room. Uriel glanced from Sam, to Dean, and to Castiel.

"This isn't over, pest!" Uriel pointed up at Sam before vanishing into thin air.

Before Cas could get a good look at Sam's eyes, they turned back to their normal mood-ring color. Sam gave one more shaky laugh. Then, his eyes rolled upward at the ceiling and he crumbled back down onto the ground.

"SAM!" Dean grunted as he slipped down to his knees after realizing that Uriel's powers keeping him pinned to the wall had gone with the angel. "Cas! Don't just stand there and look pretty! Help me!"

Dean crawled across the floor to Sam's side and lifted Sam's upper body to his chest. Castiel hesitated a second longer before reappearing directly before Sam's feet.

"What, are you afraid to get your hands dirty or something?" Dean growled up at the angel. "Grab his boots!"

Cas shook his head and, before Dean could yell something else insulting, the angel snapped his fingers. The three of them vanished from the storage compartment. Dean's last thought was getting his brother medical attention. Why had Sam been laughing? He worried that Sam had finally cracked.


	2. Separation Anxiety

Dean suddenly found himself kneeling in front of a check-in desk in the E.R. with his brother still lying limp in his arms. Sam's long legs banged against the reflecting counter with the force of Cas's power. Everyone around him, patient and waiting families alike, yelped in surprise and quieted to murmur questions to one another about his sudden appearance.

"Cas loves making an entrance. Doesn't he, Sam?" Dean grumbled under his breath at his unconscious brother. "SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

Three nurses, one woman and two men, surrounded him, "What is the emergency, sir? Can you stand?"

Dean shook his head, "Have you seen the size of him?" He indicated Sam lying on his thighs, "Get a forklift in here if you've got to! Just _help_ him, please!"

The nurse gently wiped at the blood around Sam's mouth with a wet wipe, "He could have internal bleeding -"

"Sir, just take a seat right over there -" began one of the male nurses.

"You've got to be kidding me," Dean breathed, "You're going to make us _wait_?"

The woman placed a surprisingly strong hand on his shoulder, "No, sir. We just need room to carry him to the emergency room. He is in good hands now. You need to relax."

Dean adjusted Sam higher up against his chest, "I'm not leaving his side."

Three more men came to join the group surrounding Dean and heaved Sam onto the gurney they had trailing behind them. Dean tried to follow them passed the doors labeled '_Medical Personnel & Patients Only_' but he was blocked by the female nurse.

"You're not listening to our instructions. I'm sorry, sir. But, you _have_ to _stay_ here."

Dean kept his eyes on his brother vanishing around the end of the corridor beyond the doors separating them, feeling helpless.


	3. Slipped Away

Dean sat restless in the chair nearest to the doors from behind which he had last seen his brother. He bounced on the toes of his shoes, trembling his elbows resting on them up to his hands supporting his chin. He didn't have enough room in his mind to be angry with the angel who was responsible for Sam's injuries. Dean couldn't block out the sound of Sam's disconcerting laughter as he was being beaten echoing in his mind.

His head rocketed up when he heard the doors being pushed open for the umpteenth time. There was the nurse who had ordered him to stay put. She glanced his way and shook her head.

"Seriously?" Dean growled, "It's been forty-five minutes! Why isn't anybody telling me anything? That's my brother in there!"

"The doctor is working as carefully as possible," the nurse said calmly.

Dean felt his head spinning with tiredness, "Can he speed it up? I need to see Sam."

* * *

Sam wretched, his body curling up after the defibulator electrocuted his heart back to life.

"We've got a pulse," said a man's voice from nearby. "Sam, can you hear me? Mr. Almay, squeeze my hand if you can hear me."

Sam blinked his hazel eyes up at the doctor and furrowed his soft brows, "What was that?" he asked groggily, "Where is-m I?"

"It's alright, you've got to relax, sir." said a woman's voice kindly.

"Where's Dean?" Sam's raspy voice demanded. "Where's my brother? Where is he?"

Sam tried to sit up but the doctor pushed him as gently as possible back down, "You've got to rest, Mr. Almay. Your brother is in the waiting room. He'll be in very soon -"

Sam's eyes unfocused, "Get ... help me, Dean ... something's wrong ..."

His body felt weightless while his pounding brain felt as heavy as lead. He could feel the pillow beneath his head dampening. He frowned in discomfort before his world went dark, his eyes rolling upward and closing.

* * *

Dean's head was bent over on his shoulder, his eyes half-open. But, he was snoring away in his sleep. He awoke with a start when he felt someone lay their hand on his other shoulder.

"Whoa, easy. It's just me," said the nurse he had developed an irritation towards.

Dean blinked and yawned, "Am I not allowed to sleep here?" He analyzed the look on her face and felt his entire body go cold, "What's wrong with Sammy?"

"Mr. Almay, your brother has lost a lot of blood. We're trying to control it. But, he was in so much pain it was humane to place him under a medically-induced coma." the nurse explained to him.

Dean slowly rose to his feet, "Don't you need some kind of consent to do that?"

"The doctor is trying to save his life, Mr. Almay." said the nurse defensively, "If you think you can do better than him, go tell him yourself."

"Bitch," Dean said under his breath as he circled around her and burst through the swinging double doors.

He peered in each window he passed even though he had seen Sam go around the left corner at the end of the hallway just in case they had moved him elsewhere. Dean got a few confused stares from nurses and doctors alike. His heart skipped when he found Sam's room in the E.R. He was about to give his unconscious brother a small smile until he saw a nurse disposing a bloody pillow case in the shallow trashcan by Sam's bed. Dean yanked the door open and charged in.

He was promptly apprehended by the male nurses and pinned against a wall.

"Sam!" Dean roared over their heads. "Sammy? Let me go! That's my brother!"

"We need you to leave," said the doctor, approaching Dean. "You may contaminate the sterile scene."

"No, please, let me stay!" Dean begged desperately, "Why won't anybody tell me what's going on? I need to know! Is he going to be okay?"


	4. Prayer

Dean walked numbly down the hall and ducked into the men's bathroom. He furrowed his brows at how _fancy _the bathroom was. It was to the point that it momentarily drew his attention away from why he was hiding in here in the first place. It was the cleanest bathroom he had ever been in. Even Bobby's weren't _this _clean, and his uncle lived in a _house_.

It was quite convenient that there was a fancy-looking chair placed near the sinks. Dean scooped it up and jammed the back of the chair underneath the doorknob so that no one could walk-in on him. He took a few steps back, took a second to make sure the chair was secure, then closed his eyes.

"Cas, can you hear me?" he prayed. "Sam's in trouble. I need to talk to you." Dean peaked one eye open then closed his eyes again, "Come on, man, what the hell are you waiting for?"  
"For you to turn around," came a baritone voice from behind Dean's back.

Dean rolled his eyes while they were still closed then turned to face the angel, "Well, you're _fashionably _late. Where the hell were you while me and Sam were getting our brains beaten?"

"You have the sigils carved into your ribs, Dean. I didn't know where you two were," Cas answered in his usual monotone.

"Then how the hell did you find me now?" Dean demanded, doubting the angel.

Cas pulled a cell phone out of his coat pocket, "You're in my 'G-P-S'. I heard your prayer and ... 'looked you up'."

"Ah, the _wonders_ of technological progression." said Dean sarcastically. "Whatever, it doesn't matter. Sammy is dying and he needs your help!"

"What happened to him?" Cas asked, his blue eyes boring into Dean's green ones.

Dean started pacing in front of Cas, "Uriel must have a handy-dandy cell phone like yours 'cause he cornered us at a motel in Arizona and suddenly we were in this vacant storage unit. He kept talking about sending a 'message', like a _warning_, to the devil. For some reason, he thought he'd get better reception if he beat the hell out of my brother!"

Dean realized his voice had escalated to a yell and tried to calm down, panting while he hoped no one would come to see what the commotion was about. He rubbed his eyes while Cas furrowed his brows at the chair locking the bathroom door.

"Sam is Lucifer's vessel," Cas said without emotion.

Dean went still as death, only his hand slipped off his face. He rounded on Cas, "When did you figure that out?"

Cas frowned, "I didn't have to, Dean. I already _knew_."

"Well, thanks for keeping me in the loop!" Dean roared.

A few moments of silence went by before Cas spoke, "If Lucifer is set free, he will try to persuade your brother into saying 'yes'."

"He'll needs _consent_? Demon's should hop on that bandwagon along with their 'daddy'," Dean snapped ferociously.

"Sam is at his most vulnerable when he's hurt," explained Cas further. "He can't be left unconscious for long."

"Ideally not no matter what the hell is going on," said Dean. "So, can you _zap_ him back to life?" Cas nodded and was about to open his mouth but Dean interrupted, "Okay, then. Let's stop wasting time! He could be dead already!"

Dean yanked on Cas's hand but couldn't even pull his arm up because Cas was so powerful.

Cas frowned, "You mean to _lead _me there?"

"Come on!" Dean pulled again but Cas remained planted where he stood.


	5. Hope For A Miracle

The glow of the light fixtures glided over the man and the supernatural-being as Dean led the angel to Sam's hospital room. They were drawing more attention now with Cas's attire, that damn overcoat of his made him stand out more than he should. Once Dean was within reach of the door, he hesitated with dread.

"How urgent is his condition?" Castiel asked, turning around when he realized Dean had stopped. "Shall you wish to wait?"

Dean walked numbly over to the window, peering in at his sleeping brother. Sam had an oxygen mask over his mouth and nose. His broad chest was rising and falling mechanically. Dean wiped away a traitorous tear that had slid down his long, dark lashes.

"You fear that you will lose him?" Castiel asked, joining Dean at the window and squinting at the vessel for Lucifer himself.

Dean gulped and Castiel watched his eyes close in Dean's reflection, "I think I already did."

"Why?" asked Castiel, furrowing his brows.

Dean scoffed and glared at the angel, "I dunno, Cas. Take your pick. Maybe it was when he shot Jake, when he sucked that bitch's blood ... or, my personal favorite, when he laughed while Chuckles was torturing him like he was watching _America's Funniest Home Videos_!"

Castiel just stared at Dean, whom realized that his deep voice had escalated and tried to lower the volume. Dean clutched his hands on the windowpane and rested his forehead against the cold glass.

"We've been thrown, beaten, shot, tortured, maimed, and psychologically-scarred enough, Cas. Forget about me, worry about Sammy."

Cas glanced from the sedated vessel to Dean and back, "I am sorry you are upset, Dean. What do you want me to do?"

Before Dean could round on the hint-less creature, he felt a tap on his tense shoulder. Dean licked his lips and rubbed his eyes while turning to face the doctor who had gotten his attention.

"Mr. Almay, I need to speak with you privately." said the man in a lab coat.

Dean didn't even glance over his shoulder at Cas. He followed the doctor closer than the man's own shadow would.

"How is he?" Dean breathed when the doctor turned to face him.

The doctor sighed, "I'm afraid I don't have good news, aside from that he is no longer in any discomfort."

"Can you fix him?" Dean begged, glancing between each of the doctor's brown eyes.

The doctor slanted his eyebrows upward, "Frankly, we're baffled as to how long he was able to cope with this old injuries -"

Dean frowned, "What are you talking about? What _old _injuries?"

"His CAT scan showed signs that his brain has significant bruising coinciding with long-term trauma to his skull. If you hadn't listed his occupation as a school teacher, I'd have labeled him as a mixed-martial-arts fighter."

"You know how to lay it on easy, don't you?" Dean growled.

The doctor nodded and waved a hand, "I am sorry. Long hours make me lose my common courtesy. All I can suppose is that he must have had a guardian angel up to this point. It is very difficult to keep him stabilized, so surgery is out of the question."

"There's got to be _something_ you can do!" said Dean desperately, fighting back his welling tears.

He should have taken Sam to professionals whenever they got in a scuffle. He was ashamed of how many times he told his little brother to 'suck it up'. Sam had trusted him with his life.

"I'm afraid all we can do for him now is to keep him comfortable ... and hope for a miracle," said the doctor empathetically.

He nodded up at Dean in farewell and turned to accompany an old nurse away from Dean. Dean gripped the hairs on the back of his head and groaned through clenched teeth up at the ceiling.

"Dean," said Cas from behind Dean, "I need to tell you something ... something I was sworn to keep secret."

Dean shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, "Later. Right now, I need a miracle ... and you're gonna give it to me!"


	6. Careful What You Wish For

Dean stood at the foot of Sam's metal-framed hospital bed. Sam had tubs running through his nose presumably down to his weak lungs. There was an added oxygen mask over his little brother's gaped mouth and clogged nose. Sam's pale skin was glittering with cold sweat. Dean gripped the metal frame and glanced up as Castiel stood beside Sam.

"What are you waiting for?" Dean asked. "Do it!"

Castiel hesitated a moment longer, "I'm sorry for all I've done to you, Sam. I pray I can make it right."

Dean frowned at the angel but redirected his attention to Sam when Castiel placed his hand on Sam's boiling forehead. He glanced hurriedly at the heart monitor when it gave a loud beep. Dean then rushed to Sam's side when his little brother suddenly wretched. Sam's eyes were wide open and bloodshot. Dean gripped Sam's trembling hand in his and pushed Sam's sweaty curtains of bangs away from Sam's hazel eyes.

"Hey, dude!" Dean said while giving Sam a helpful hard pat on his shoulder. "Welcome back, Sammy!"

Sam relaxed as well as he could after a few moments and looked up at his big brother, "_Dean_!"

Dean hated how faint Sam's voice was, "Do you remember anything?"

Sam shook his head, "I dunno ... it's March twenty-third, right?"

"That was three months ago," said Dean quietly before glaring up at Castiel, "What the hell did you do to my brother?"


	7. Even If It Kills Him

"I fixed him," said Castiel, unperturbed by Dean's aggression.

Sam gurgled behind Dean and his big brother twisted around to hover over him again, "What's wrong with him then?"

Sam was looking up at Dean, trembling beneath his thin hospital sheets. Dean pressed the back of his hand gingerly against Sam's sweaty forehead.  
"He's cold as ice," Dean whispered. "Sammy, don't close your eyes, man. Come on, look at me. It's Dean. I'm here."

Castiel sighed as though this was wasting his time, "Nothing is wrong with his_ ears_. Uriel's attack caused some minor temporary memory loss that should return. Dean, it was I who tampered with the ... 'panic room' in your uncle Bobby's basement."

Dean seemed too preoccupied with trying to get Sam to open his eyes again, "No offense, Cas. But ..." Dean fell silent. Then he steadily straightened up and turned slowly to face the angel, "What the hell d'you mean 'tampered with'?"

Cas frowned as though wondering why Dean was questioning his confession, "I mean I opened that door to let Sam out." Dean's face was stony, so, Cas continued, "It was on my orders from Zachariah, Dean. Sam could hardly break the Final Seal while trapped in that iron cellar."

Dean's lips parted, stunned ... then he shrugged, "I guess Bobby owes me a beer."

Castiel raised his eyebrows, "Did you hear what I just said -?"

"There's nothing wrong with my ears either," Dean interrupted, his voice was calm which should worry the angel more than if he had been yelling. "Bobby didn't do it. Ruby was M.I.A. ... aside from Anna, you're the only one who ever ..." Dean's lungs seemed to stop working, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

He dropped to his knees at the trashcan by Sam's gurney, places his hands on the sticky linoleum floor, and heaved over the shallow bin. Castiel watched and listened to Dean wretch dryly before walking over to him.

Castiel bent down on one knee and placed a hand on Dean's trembling shoulder, "It was God's will, Dean. One day, you will be enlightened and understand."

Out of nowhere, Dean turned and punched Cas across the angel's vessel's face. Dean was too consumed by fury and betrayal that he didn't even wince when his knuckles cracked against Castiel's nose. He staggered back to his feet and kicked Castiel in the chest. The angel fell back and sprawled out on the floor.

Dean glanced at his little brother when Sam whimpered then scowled down at the traitor at his feet, "Leave. I never want to see you again."

He blinked once and the angel had vanished into thin air for what he hoped was the last time. His lips were curling over his clenched teeth and he squeezed his eyes shut. Sam squirmed beneath his bed sheets, breathing shallowly. Dean turned back to him and knelt at Sam's side to save his back the strain of bending over.

"S-Sam?" Dean stuttered. He then reached for one of Sam's large hands and held it between both of his. "Sam-m-my, I'm s-so sorry. You gotta open your eyes so you can aim a sucker at my face. I deserve it, man."

Sam held his breath to say, "No ... Dean. It's okay. You didn't know."

"Did you?" Dean asked, roughly rubbing his hand against Sam's knuckles to try to heat them up.

Sam slowly turned to blink drowsily up at Dean, "I h-had my suspicions."

Dean reached out to pat Sam's chest, "You're alright now ... aren't you, Sam?"

Sam hesitated long enough for Dean's mind so start panicking, jumping to the worst conclusions. "I will be, Dean. The doctor said -"

"Screw him!" said Dean angrily, "You'll be alright, y-you'll be fine. You hear me?"

Sam shook his head once slowly, "Listen, it-_he_ said that I might have permanent damage."

"Shows what he knows," scoffed Dean. "_Nothing_."

Sam sighed, too tired to argue, "It was bound to happen sometime, Dean. All the times we've bashed our skulls in, been thrown through the air ... how would we really survive unscathed?"

Dean frowned, "Okay, alright. I'll bite. What _kind _of permanent damage?"

Sam coughed roughly before saying, "I dunno. He said something like I won't be the same. Y'know, like, personality switches and all that fun stuff."

Dean bowed his head, "Well, I don't want you to worry about that. Alright? Just focus on gettin' better. I'll take care of you even if it kills me."

Sam gave him a sad small smile, "That's what concerns me."


	8. Changes

"Alright, give me a hand here, big guy." Dean grunted, withering beneath Sam's heavy arm around his shoulders. "If I have to carry you, you'll have to take _me _to the E.R.."

He was the perfect crutch for his little-big brother. His broad shoulders fit like a jigsaw puzzle piece in Sam's armpits. Dean maneuvered Sam into the motel room with a little difficulty since Dean was not a small guy when he was not being compared to his tall brother. Sam grunted when Dean set him down on the moth eaten loveseat by the door.

Dean clapped a hand on Sam's upper arm, "You hang tight. I'll be back with our shit."

Sam gave Dean a small smile which slipped away the moment his older brother vanished. He experimentally stretched his legs to their full length then let them drop with a raspy sigh. Before the doctor gave the 'okay' for Sam to be discharged, he had given his patient a check-list of symptoms to watch out for. That pamphlet was promptly ripped from his hands by Dean and presumably disposed of in a nearby trashcan.

"Moodiness, way ahead of ya." scoffed Dean as he read Sam's list that he had stolen and stored in his coat pocket. "Addictions ... man, wonder if they read Chuck's books, Sammy." He said aloud to no one, thinking of Sam's affair with demon blood. "Loss of speech, yeah, I _wish_." Dean chuckled as he lifted one duffle back onto his shoulder. "Rational choices ... well, he can't take all the credit." Dean said as he shut the trunk with their two duffle bags slung from his wilting shoulders.

Dean left the list in the trunk of the Impala and didn't notice it missing till he dropped the duffles on the moldy motel room floor. Sam was slumped in the loveseat, his head resting on the back of the chair. Dean felt the color drain from his face.

"Sam?" he rushed to Sam's side. "Sammy! Don't fall asleep, man!"

Sam jerked awake and scowled up at Dean, "I was just resting my eyes. _Jeez_, dude."

Dean sighed gratefully, "I _knew _that." He lied, "It's just ... I can't get you to the bed all by my lonesome, man. You're too heavy."

Sam scrunched up his nose, "_Aw_, gettin' old?"

"Shut-up," Dean snapped and turned his back on Sam's chuckle. He set Sam's duffle on the bed furthest from the window and rummaged through his, "You gettin' hungry yet?"

Sam pouted as he thought for a moment, "Nope, I'm good."

Dean wondered with a small tug of panic if 'loss of appetite' was on that stupid list, "You sure? It's almost dinner time."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut as he heaved himself to his unsteady feet. When Dean rushed over to help him, Sam shook his head while blinking heavily, "I don't need your help for every little thing."

Sam took three steps towards his bed with Dean watching him like a hawk and sank down heavily on the comforter. Dean cocked his eyebrows then turned back to fishing out his toiletries, "If you say so."

Sam situated himself on his bed, "I do."

Dean shoved his old home-made E.M.T. meter back into his duffle after pulling it out by mistake, "Anything coming back?"

Sam blinked sleepily over at Dean, "What do you mean?"

"Any memories? Anything that wasn't there before?" Dean clarified.

Sam furrowed his brows and yawned, "Well, I had a dream about Uriel on the way over here."

"_I_ didn't see you fall asleep," Dean frowned.

"Oh," Sam gave him a small smile. "I must've fallen asleep with my eyes open or something. But, he had you pinned to a wall and he was beating me senseless."

"Sounds pleasant," said Dean quietly.

Sam yawned again and tried to sit up, "It was real, wasn't it, Dean? Is that why I woke up in the E.R.?"

"Um," Dean hesitated for a moment. "Yeah, Sammy. It was real."

Sam scoffed, "Figures."

Dean left to place his toothbrush and toothpaste by the bathroom sink. He glared into his emerald eyes reflecting back at him before returning to his little brother, "I swear to Metallica, Sammy, if you fall asleep I'll spit on your eyelid!"

Sam grumbled with his eyes still shut, "Hmm, sounds more pleasant than my dream."

Dean forced a smile, "Hey, do you remember how you felt while Uriel was ... 'beating you senseless'?"

Sam frowned but still did not open his eyes, "I assume it didn't feel_ good_."

"I mean, do you remember ... _laughing_?" Dean asked carefully.

Sam's eyes opened instantly, "I thought that was just my brain adding more weirdness to my dream."

Dean shook his head, "Nope. You seemed to be having a real good time about it."

Sam sat up on his bed and stretched his aching arms, "Well, I do have 'significant brain injuries', Dean. Who knows _what_ made me do that."

"Yeah ... _who_ knows," said Dean, thinking darkly of the traitorous angel he had banished.


	9. Moving On

Sam grunted and squirmed beneath his bed sheets. Dean was sleeping with his head sandwiched between his two pillows to try to drown out Sam's restlessness. A small amount of blood from where he had sunk his teeth into his lower lip during one of his spasms was dripping over Sam's sharp chin and falling down to his dark green blankets. In his mind, Sam was getting a bird's eye view of Uriel nearly beating him to death.

The sound of his own crazed laughter rang in his ears.

* * *

Sam awoke spluttering against a cloth dabbing at his swollen lower lip. Dean retracted it for a moment and said irritably, "Relax, I'm just trying to clean ya up. Don't whine about it."

Sam blinked heavily up at him and said thickly, "_Gib-id-tew-meh_."

With a sigh, Dean dropped the cloth onto his extended hand and Sam pressed it to his lip. He stared at the blood droplets on his bed sheets and heard Dean grumble before closing the bathroom door behind him, "I swear, it's like you're a baby all over again." Sam lunged for the guestbook on the nightstand between their beds and hurled it at the bathroom door. Dean's baritone voice chuckled, "Well, baby-Sammy with a good throwing arm."

Sam wriggled out from under his blankets, "'uck you, Dean."

He staggered over to his duffle bag and fished out his chap stick that he kept hidden from Dean. Sam stood before the motel room mirror and tentatively took the cloth away from his lip and draped it on his broad shoulder. It looked like he had bitten a small chunk of his lip out but he decided to rub his lip balm over it to sooth the swelling and the dull ache.

He flinched when Dean walked past him, "Don't worry, dude. A swollen lip makes ya look tough."

Sam quickly dropped the chap stick behind the dresser where their television was set, "Where you going?"

"I'm starving," said Dean with an exaggerated raspy voice. "You comin'?" Sam held out his arms to show Dean that he was only wearing his drawstring pants and socks. Dean grinned, "Get dressed, pretty-boy. Nice lip color."

Sam knew his chap stick was colorless and that he only used it when his lips were dry or cut. Sam shoved past him and Dean was surprised by how much strength was now brewing within his little brother. Just the day before, Sam was staggering around like a newborn baby moose. He waited by the door with his back to his little brother, clicking his tongue to hide the fact that the speedy recovery was concerning him.

* * *

Sam sunk his teeth ravenously into the hamburger, sitting with his knees nearly tipping the small table into Dean's lap. Dean raised his eyebrows, "What happened to the veggie-shakes?"

"People change," Sam said distractedly after swallowing.

Dean hesitated for a moment, knowing he was overreacting, "Yeah ... they sure do, Sammy."

_Except rigid-as-Hell people like you_,_ Sam_, thought Dean. In what seemed like a few seconds, Sam had consumed the hamburger and was reaching for Dean's French fries.

Dean raised his eyebrows and Sam chortled, "This stuff's five-star compared to that hospital's food."

Dean grinned, "I bet."

Sam cleared his throat, "So, you find a case yet?"

Dean blinked out of his brief reverie, "So much for the doctor's orders for R-and-R."

Sam rolled his eyes, "Since when have we ever followed _any_ doctor's recommendations?"

"_Wish we had sooner_," Dean said under his breath.

Sam frowned, "What?"

Dean shook his head and changed the subject, "Um, yeah. There's an investigation going on just a town over where a little boy maimed his best friend. Says here," he retrieved the cut-out of the article from the inside of his coat and handed it to Sam, "that he claims 'the voices made him do it'."

Sam said around a mouth full of greasy munch, ignoring the stingign sensation the stalt caused, "Maybe he's just nuts?"

"Still, I figured since we've got the time we'd go have a look." Dean insisted, wanting nothing more than a case to distract him from picking apart every move his little brother made.


	10. Back in the Job

"Please excuse my partner. I thought I filled him up back at base," Dean insisted to the mother of the deranged killer. "I'm sure he didn't mean to eat _all _of that casserroll."

"It's alright," the woman gave him a small smile. "I've been given enough of these to feed the homeless ... which is what I should do, now that I mention it."

Sam listened to Dean charm his way with her, baiting her into divulging every aspect of her son's ordeal. It had been dumb luck that he had won the Rock-Paper-Scissors to snoop through house while Dean would keep the residents distracted. They had rarely actually used the bathroom during their examinations of crime scenes, lest they leave a piece of their DNA behind. But, Sam hadn't expected a nosebleed when he reached the second floor of the home. Initially, he had to separate himself from the food because he was making a fool of himself.

Sam couldn't seem to get enough of it, but his stomach filled to the brim said otherwise. He decided to blame it on whatever could be haunting the house rather than assuming that something was still wrong with _him_. After all, Cas had healed him before Dean banished the angel. He shuddered as he dabbed at his lips with toilet paper, mopping up all the blood he couldn't wipe away with his tongue. Sam cringed at the memory of drinking blood to strengthen his cursed gifts, courtesy of the Yellow-Eyed Demon.

Blood tasted metallic and made him gag now. Sam cussed under his breath when a tiny drop of blood splattered on the collar of his white dress shirt. Before leaving the bathroom, he tried to hide the stain with the hood of his black coat. Satisfied that his nose was not going to spurt spontaneously again, Sam ducked beneath the doorframe which is something he had become accustomed to since his Stanford freshman year growth-spurt.

Dean was reaching the top of the stairs and, like a magnet, his eyes found the tiny blood stain on Sam's collar, "How'd that get there?"

Sam decided to lie, "It's old. I've meant to bleach it out -"

"It's a new shirt, Sammy." Dean reminded him, worry in his green eyes. "I got it for you, like, three days ago."

Sam sighed, "So, did you get anything out of the mom?"

"Well, the loin-fruit of that weirdly-sane mother was just a normal kid up until a while ago when he started, get this, 'sleepwalking, staring out the window for hours on end, and refusing to eat or drink on multiple occasions'."

"Think he was possessed?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded, "Oh, I _know _it. Come on, let's go before you eat-out her fridge."


	11. No Rest for the Damaged

"I-wanted-to-do-it-and-it-took-everything-inside-of-me-not-to-do-it," Dean heard Sam whisper in quick succession.

Dean squinted at the nightstand between his and Sam's motel beds and tugged on the string. The bed next to his was illuminated and revealed to be unoccupied. Dean flinched when he heard a dull _scratch _noise coming from his side of the room. Just as Sam was repeating that sentence, Dean saw that his younger brother was standing in the far corner of the motel room. Sam's head was set as far as it could fit into the corner without hurting himself.

His broad shoulders were hunched and his was toying with something in his hands that Dean could not see. Dean pushed his blankets off and approached Sam cautiously, "Sam? What're you doin' over here?"

He tentatively turned Sam away from the corner and stooped a little to see Sam's face. When he did, his mouth gaped. Sam's eyes were rolled upward with only the whites visible. His lips were trembling together, muffling the sound inside his mouth. Dean saw that Sam was crumbling the list of symptoms. He wasn't sure if sleep-walking was on the criteria. But, this was scaring Dean, a man who swore he feared nothing.

Dean tried to pry Sam's lips apart gently while saying, "Com'on, dude. Sammy, let me get you to bed. Guess you can't resist being weird even when you're unconcious, huh?"

At that moment, Sam's eyes righted themselves and he started to slip down to the ground, "_Dean_? Ugh, what happened?"

"You were sleep-walking," Dean said with a relief, multitasking stowing away the list of symptoms from the hospital in the waistband of his sweatpants and keeping Sam from face-planting on the filthy carpet. "What were you dreaming about?"

Sam groaned while Dean strained to get his 'little' brother back to bed, "Why? Did I say anything?"

Dean decided to try to cheer him up, "Yeah, that you wanna bang Brad Pitt."

But, Sam did not laugh. Not even a chuckle, "I feel ... awful."

"That's what happens when you ...," Dean trailed off, glancing at the folded piece of paper in his waistband.

Sam croaked, "Got brain damage?"

Dean scoffed, more to reassure himself than Sam, "Dude, you've been 'brain damaged' since you were born."

Sam was struggling to keep his eyes open, "What's," he was interrupted by a drawn-out yawn, "on the agenda ... for ... tomorrow?"

Dean pulled his own blankets back up to his neck, "Got a appointment with the psycho kid at juvi."

"Fun," Sam said faintly.

Dean did not fall back asleep. He could not risk not being there to help Sam if his brother sleep-walked again.


	12. Angst Ablaze

Dean found it odd to be the first one to rise from their beds. Sam was lying on his front with his head facing away from the obnoxious sunlight pouring in through the sheer window blinds. Dean grunted as he heaved himself up from his bed and stretched his back.

"Com'on, Sam. Up 'n at 'em," Dean slapped Sam's arm as he passed him.

Sam groaned, "Shut-up, tryin' to sleep."

"Well, I'm _tryin_' to get you up," Dean called from the echoing bathroom. "Com'on, us FBI agents have to be at the juvi by eleven." Dean splashed his face with cold water from the sink and was drying his skin when he noticed that Sam was not giving any sign that he was getting up, "Don't make me carry you. Your bitchy mood is contagious."

"Got it from you," Sam snapped as he face planted into his pillow. "I'm exhausted. My legs hurt."

"I'm no genius like you, _genius_." Dean smirked, puting on a brave face even though his little brother wasn't looking at him. "But, it _could _have somethin' to do with standing in a corner for who knows how long."

Sam mumbled into his fluffy pillow and growled when Dean pulled on his ankle teasingly.

Dean sighed, "I'm gonna go get us some brunch. If you're not up by then, I'll ... well, I'll be screwed 'cause there's no way in hell I can pick your giant ass up out of bed."

Sam knew it was unusual to be the last one to get ready for the day. But, he couldn't control how irritated he felt at his brother at the moment. Right now, Dean's forced-optimism was grinding his gears. Sam listened to his brother bustle around the room, yanking his jeans out of his duffle bag and pulling on their dad's leather coat. All of a sudden, a lump of guilt swelled in Sam's throat.

The feeling was overwhelming, it had come out of nowhere. It was such a sharp switch from animosity to anguish that it left Sam feeling at a loss as to how he got from one to the other. He wondered if he was feeling guilty of making Dean feel bad for waking him up. Deep down, Sam knew he was overreacting. But, like before, he could not stop it.

After Dean left, Sam twisted over onto his back beneath his blankets and spotted a carton of cigarettes beside the television set on the dresser. He stared at it for a long time before sitting up in his bed. His stomach was growling with hunger and his lips were chapped. Sam set his feet on the carpet floor and crossed over to the dresser. He tentatively placed his hands on the dresser, not breaking his staring contest with the inanimate object.

Other than when he had been possessed by the demon, Meg, Sam had never smoked in his life. He was a healthy man, always picking the 'rabbit food' as Dean so sensitively called it. Sam also was more athletic than his brother, whom preferred to take the edge off with a beer rather than a run around the block. Sam glanced away at his running sneakers set near the bathroom door. His stomach throbbed with hunger again and he knew he did not have the energy to go for a jog.

Sam glared at the tantalizing cigarette box and took it in his hand, "Just this once. It's okay if its only this once."

He fished Dean's lighter out of his brother's duffle bag and was about to light the cigarette when he caught sight of the laminated 'NO SMOKING' sign folded on top of the TV. It made Sam paranoid just as quickly as he had felt sad. What if they were fined for the odor? Or worse, what if Dean got angry at his little brother for smoking? Sam stepped into the bathroom with his cigarettes, lighter, and a bottle of cologne that he hadn't used in a long while.

Its musk was so strong that Sam hoped it would be able to hide the smell. Sam locked the door and placed the cigarette back between his lips.


	13. Talkin' Crazy Talk

Dean held his tongue when he got a whiff of the burning tobacco through that overwhelming cologne of Sam's. At first, he was stunned that his health-nut of a brother would smoke. But, after Sam's demon blood addiction, the risk of lung cancer seemed far less of a threat. Dressed in black overcoats with suits underneath, the two men piled into the Impala. Dean drummed his thumbs on the steering wheel, waiting for an opportunity to join the stampede on the highway, while Sam sat in silence in the passenger seat.

There had been countless times when Dean wanted nothing more than for his brother to shut his mouth, which was always poised to argue. After all, at one point in his little brother's life, Sam had been studying to become a lawyer. It was fortunate that Dean had his hot-blooded passion to match Sam's vast education. But, it was highly unusual that his little brother had not said a word ... or even blinked if Dean had been counting them. Sam's head started to droop which Dean saw in his peripheral vision.

"Alright over there, Smokey the Bear?" Dean forced a grin that would hide his rising tension.

Sam ran his big fingers through his curtains of brown hair, "What? Oh, yeah. I'm good."

Dean raised his eyebrows and said drawlingly, "_O_kay."

Sam rested his elbow against the window of his passenger door and massaged his forehead as casually as he could manage. The left side of his brain was throbbing. It felt as though it was beating like his racing heart.

* * *

Sam hovered behind Dean, looking more like a bodyguard with their size difference than his FBI partner. They were standing in a rather crowded room with about ten-by-ten feet of space. It was mostly occupied by a table and a chair, both of which were nailed into the floor. The boy sitting on the chair was no more than thirteen years old. He was very thin, pale, had short black hair, and bright green eyes. The only door to the room opened and a police officer slid in two chairs for the 'FBI agents'.

Trevor glanced between Dean to Sam, "You're brothers. I can tell ... and he's the youngest," he gestured with a nod of his head at Sam. "Why is he so much bigger -"

"You're a blunt kid. You tell it like it is, huh?" Dean picked up one chair by its back and spun it around to sit on it backwards, "Know why we're here, Trevor?"

Trevor sneered up at Sam, "Got any more smokes, detective?"He chuckled watching Sam glance nervously at the back of Dean's head. "Ah, and he's clearly the ... 'submissive' one -"

"Why don't we put a pin on that conversation and get to you hurting your best friend." Sam interrupted the kid flatly, taking a seat in the chair left by the door. "I'm guessing that you didn't _talk_ him to death."

At that moment, Sam's headache burned into a migraine. His head drooped down and rose up twice before his hazel eyes fixed on Trevor.

Trevor seemed a little perturbed by Sam now, "He's not dead. Tell him to stop kicking my cell door every night. I can't sleep."

"Then why don't you leave?" Sam suddenly got to his feet and started circling around them.

Dean laughed, "Yeah, I bet Trevor wishes he could be right at home, snug as a bug in his bed. Kind of ruined that, huh, kid?"

Sam bent down greatly and hissed in Trevor's ear, "It's a free country. Don't like it? Get out, Donnie Darko."

Dean frowned up at Sam, "You alright, partner?"

Sam slammed his fist on the metal table, "Where's the safe? Huh? I'm the key! Lucifer needs the key to the safe to get out!"

Dean glanced quickly between the little murderer cowering beneath Sam's aggressive scowl and his brother ... whose body was starting to tremble. Dean got to his feet and gripped Sam's shoulder, yanking him till Sam stood up straight.

Trevor was crying, "They say I'm crazy? _He _should be locked up! Not me! At least who _I _see is real!"

Dean struggled with keeping Sam upright, "What's going on, Sammy? You're talkin' crazy."

Sam slumped against Dean who staggered and nearly collapsed beneath his brother's weight ... Sam had fallen unconcious.

"Sam?" Dean patted Sam's back roughly. "SAM!"


	14. Guilt

Sam beat Dean back to the motel room and closed the bathroom door behind him. He fumbled with his black tie beneath the collar of his white shirt. His welling mood ring eyes blinked heavily back at him from his reflection in the mirror. He flinched and sniffled when he heard Dean burst into their motel room. Sam bit his lips in as he pinched the lock in the doorknob.

Dean jiggled that doorknob and rammed his shoulder against the door, "SAM! Don't do this! Don't you do this! Open the freakin' door! DAMN IT!"

Sam butted his forehead repeatedly against the bathroom door, chanting, "My fault, my fault, it's all my fault ... my fault." After a few moments of bruising his skin, Sam choked out, "Hey, Dean?"

Dean pressed his ear against the door, alarmed at the sudden casual tone in his little brother's tone, "_Sammy_?"

Sam ignored Dean while reaching over the bathtub to grab his razor blade. While slicing across his palm, he breathed, "I'm weak, wasn't I? I'm lost, Dean. I'm really, _really _lost." Sam dipped his fingers into his blood pooling in his large palm and started drawing a sigil on the mirror to keep angels and demons away. "I believed her ... Ruby. I really thought she wanted to help me. I'm weak, wasn't I?"

Dean pursed his lips and thrust his shoulder into the door with little progress of breaking it down, "Listen to me, Sam -!"

"Cas may have opened the Panic Room door, but, I still ran to Ruby instead of running to you. I ran to her instead of you, Dean. I started this whole thing ... the apocalypse. I can't stop thinking about it." Sam gripped the sink counter, starring into his reflection, and gasped, "I have to pay for what I've done."

Dean tried to kick down the door and winced at the resulting pain in his knee, "SAM! I'm here! Let me help you! Unlock the damn door!"

He heard Sam sob, "Dad told you to kill me! He told you to do it, Dean, before I turned into a killer!"

"You're not a _killer_, Sam!" Dean thrust his shoulder at the door again. "Son of a bitch!"

Sam examined the blood drying on the blades of the razor, "I try to stop taking the blame ... s-since you b-broke the f-first seal, right? But, I _can't_, Dean. I can't get it out of my mind. It's all my fault." He held the razor by his throat, "I'm sorry, Dean."

Sam's face smashed into the mirror when the door finally was kicked off its hinges and landed on him. The razor blade went spiraling up in the air and landed with a _clack _on the cheap tile floor. Dean tossed the door off of Sam and yanked him upright from where he had slumped down to the sink. Dean dragged Sam out of the bathroom, grunting at how much his brother weighed more than him.

"Cas, you son of a bitch! Get down here!" Dean roared up at the ceiling.

Cas appeared directly behind him, "What has happened here?"


End file.
